Never not eating. Awkwardly sharing.

Och Aye, I’ll have a wee meatpie!

Last week the hubby and I spent a few days eating and drinking our way around Savannah, Ga. Our goals for this getaway were simple. Hunt for some ghosts, get our Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evilfix on, have some booze filled “to go” cups, and eat our weight in Southern food. The last thing I expected was to find down south was Scottish food!

The hubby and I had taken a “Haunted Pub Crawl”the night before. The finer details of the night escape me, because our “to go” cups were rarely empty. But Molly MacPherson’s Scottish Pub managed to stay in our minds. The hubby remembered the good beer, and I remembered the kilts, ghost free bathroom, and potential for a Scottish meal.

I knew once The Great Scot, aka my mother, heard that we found this we hidden gem, she would insist I get something to eat. How could I not? Do you know how rare it is to find Cock-a-leeky soup on a menu? Let alone Scotch Broth. But I was in Savannah, and it was far too hot for soup. I shed a tear, not going to lie. I really wanted the soup.

I ended up choosing the meat pies. The Great Scot yelled via text, “You never eat mine!” By hers, she means the pies she has shipped from a Scottish butcher out of state. So no, I do not like theirs. But these, THESE were not chopped bits of meat housed in dry flavorless crust of frozen pies past.

These were flaky, butter topped pies were heavenly. Can’t go wrong with flaky paste. The rest of the dough was a more sturdy make, keeping the gravy coated pieces of meat neatly tucked inside. Nary a spec, nor flake of pie was left upon my plate. Don’t they just look divine?